


Sixty Minutes

by toomuchplor



Series: Schmoop Bomb: The Series [5]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Babies, Cuddling and Snuggling, Domestic, Kid Fic, M/M, Ridiculous, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-20
Updated: 2012-02-20
Packaged: 2017-10-31 12:13:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/343946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toomuchplor/pseuds/toomuchplor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur may be caving on the whole concept of "sleep-training".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sixty Minutes

**Author's Note:**

> Very short and very fluffy, even for this 'verse.
> 
> I have been too busy to write the fic that was supposed to come here in the series and break up the string of "Eames and Arthur are really fucking tired" coda fics (though I'm told that does pretty accurately describe parenting a baby) so I am just going to go ahead and post this. Maybe I will come back later and fill in the blanks? I promise the next fic in the series of codas is not set principally in Arthur and Eames' bed with a baby between them.

"Keep your hand here," is what Eames says when Arthur wakes to the feeling of his sleep-heavy arm being lifted up from the mattress and lowered again. "I'll be right back."

Arthur doesn't bother opening his eyes; he knows the warm soft shape under his palm, the little sway of lower back, the sweet-quick in-out of baby breathing. Margaret is awake, and tetchy too. Arthur can feel how she's churning her arms and legs, the motion transmitted into his hand by the jerking of her back, and now she's adding a series of increasingly annoyed fussy sounds to the mix. "Shh," Arthur exhales drowsily, patting and circling his fingers. "Baba's getting your bottle."

Margaret coughs irritably and then launches into a full-throated wail without any other preamble.

Arthur peels his eyes open and sighs, reaching over with his other hand to pull Margaret towards him. She'll have none of it, screwing up her face and shrieking indignantly. "Are we starving you again?" Arthur asks her as he locates her pacifier dangling off a clip that's fastened to her sleeper. She's already almost too worked up to take it, but Arthur is stubborn and holds the pacifier in place while she cries and carries on and eventually takes a few reluctant sucks before settling down to it, blinking dark reproachful teary eyes at Arthur. "He's going as fast as he can," Arthur says, even though he has no idea if this is true; it probably isn’t. Eames straight out of bed tends to be a bit slow to action, but at least he hears Margaret crying. Arthur himself lost his ability to wake for infant fussing somewhere around month three, especially knowing that Eames can and will thump him until he wakes up and takes his turn feeding Margaret.

Margaret sucks and stares and lets go of a few shaky sighs. Arthur pulls her a little closer so he can kiss the tip of her nose.

"Here," says Eames, coming into the room, stepping right onto the bed to cross over to his side instead of walking around it, a sort of low-level sleep-deprived parkour. He drops to the mattress and holds out the bottle. "Christ, what a night. People should be born with teeth. This is bullshit."

Arthur takes the pacifier from Margaret's mouth and trades it out for the bottle nipple. "Did you dose the formula?" he asks.

"Yeah, more baby paracetemol," Eames says, drifting now, half under the covers and spread every which way. "Let's try for another hour of sleep."

"She won't sleep again," Arthur says grimly. "It's getting light out. She's solar powered."

"She'll sleep if we keep her here," Eames answers through a yawn.

"No," says Arthur.

"Promise I won't let you roll over on her and kill her," Eames says.

"You can't promise that," Arthur protests. Margaret is trying to hold the bottle now, but she's not very good at it, gripping it too close to the top and with both hands on the one side.

"Yes, I can," Eames says, "I'll put my arms round her and punch you if you come near me."

"Our lives are so romantic," Arthur says, idly trying to rearrange Margaret's grip but without success.

"Go on, just this once," Eames says, throwing his arm over Margaret's middle. "Think of it: sixty more minutes."

Arthur thinks of it. "Yeah, okay," he says, well aware that he's in no state to make important decisions. "Just this once. And promise you'll punch me."

"It will be my honor," Eames answers, and takes over holding the bottle, tugging Margaret towards him and out of Arthur's range of motion.


End file.
